Like Home
by afinefringefrenzy
Summary: Have you ever wanted really in depth and vaguely sexual Swan Queen handholding? Because I've got it right here. [Updating with a few more similar oneshots]
1. Chapter 1

**This was supposed to just be a quick break from homework, but I really liked it, so here it is. **

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Emma's hand feels like home, Regina concludes.

Her hand is so soft as it curls around hers, and so warm. Those fingers that she can practically feel stroking her cheek, running through her hair, sliding up her thigh, going _other places, _fit perfectly between hers. The metaphor is so cliché, but the way their hands fit together is like a puzzle, the two pieces feeling so _right_ as they snap together. Somehow Emma's grip is both strong and gentle at the same time, Regina notices—the way her hands gently cup her face as they kiss, and the might with which Emma protects her, all at once.

She breathes in deeply, contentedly, thinking of nothing but the woman standing next to her—their love and the heat of their closeness that she can practically feel flowing between them, passing through their interlocked fingers. Emma squeezes her hand lightly, but Regina tightens their grip further. A passionate embrace of their hands, a wanting to hold more of the other, to hold the other tighter. But Regina is satisfied with holding only Emma's hand. It's personal in a way that the lustful couple rarely is, and there is something enticing and sensual about becoming so intimately familiar with what she thought was already a well-known part of her lover.

She maps every inch of Emma's hand with hers. Her palms are somewhat calloused, but Regina likes the way that it makes them feel protective. No far-from-subtle angry glances at the two, no cruel mother or evil spell can hurt her when Emma's hands are holding hers so securely. But the skin on the back of her hand is smooth and Regina's thumb rubs lazy circles into it. If Emma's palms are Emma the Sherriff, and Emma her White Knight, then the backs of her hands are Emma the mother, and Emma the lover—smooth like skin of her back and her thighs and her breasts, which Regina can practically feel against her body right now. And she strokes Emma's short, tough fingernails with their chipped red nail polish. She remembers painting them for her, after Emma had had a long, tiring day at work and was frustrated when she couldn't paint them neatly herself. Emma was never one for doing things neatly, but despite Regina's immaculate nature, she found it an appealing trait.

But it's the warmth of Emma's hand that Regina can't avoid focusing on, though it is Emma's warmth that is most familiar to her. Emma has always been _warmth_ to Regina, ever since she barreled her way into her life. And it was so unfamiliar at first, as Regina's life had been without warmth for so long. And it drew her in, like a moth to a flame; so intoxicating that Regina wanted nothing more than to bathe in it. Though the warmth from her hand is only a spark compared to the flames of having all of her, pressed as close to Regina's skin as possible, it's enough. It's different as well, less a blaze and closer to soft waves flowing between their skin—not crashing and burning, but flowing.

And Emma's warmth is like no other, Regina concludes.


	2. Chapter 2

**At Korderoo's request, I've decided to expand this into a series of oneshots, each focusing on a different part of the body. They should all be around 500 words or so. I'm planning to write about lips, hair, scent, and, **_**of course**_**, boobs as well. Let me know if you think I should write about something else and please review!**

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And Emma's eyes are purely captivating, Regina realizes.

She finds herself caught, and far from the first time, gazing into their crystalline blue depths—a helpless prisoner to their trance.

And Emma's eyes have always been so expressive, always the weak link in the chain that let her true emotions bleed through. Even when she's furious with her, Regina can see that pool of longing hidden behind that fragile angry front. And all Regina has to do if she wants to shatter it is get close, so close to her—to where she can feel the electricity zapping between their bodies in the small margin of space that separates them, and then with a single touch she can make it all come crumbling down. And the other woman will finally give in, tearing her eyes away from Regina's only to flit longingly to her chest.

And Emma's eyes are like magnets, she supposes, the way that she can never tear her gaze away from them. No matter how hard she fights against it, they hold her entranced. They always have, even from the first moment they met—when the wild woman had been so rudely thrust into her life and all they could do was look at each other. Regina is all too familiar with magic, but Emma's eyes hold a different sort of spell, a magic she's never seen before. And nowadays she doesn't fight it, only too happy to give in to her lover in any way she can.

And she knows everyone else can see the way that their eyes are greedy for each other, quickly raking the other's body before settling into the other's blue or brown gaze, whenever they're together. And she knows that they probably saw it before either of the two realized what was there. And she can feel their spiteful looks at them as well; perceptibly red hot against her skin, as if a look could leave marks on another's body. But Regina ignores them because the way Emma looks at her is much more powerful. And when she turns around, Emma's gaze is perceptible on her body as well, but Emma's looks feel like soft caresses.

There are other moments too, gentler moments, where Emma's glances are quick and they send a shock through Regina's body. She's not sure which she likes better, those tantalizing teases or the full surrender.

Regina sometimes wonders why, after striving for power and control all her life, that she relishes the way that one look from Emma can completely take her over. It must be love, she supposes, that can cause such trust and such a desire to be undone.

Because when Emma's eyes are locked onto hers, and she can see everything happening in her lover's mind—that's when she feels closest to her.

And she's helpless against Emma's gaze, Regina realizes.


	3. Chapter 3

**I…I'm writing about boobs. You have been warned. This is also where the M rating gets real. (thisismyfirstimewritingasexs cenedon'tjudge)**

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Regina's chest tugs at her shirt, her buttons seemingly struggling to stay buttoned, and Emma can't take her eyes off of it. It's shameful, the way she stares, but oh so worth it.

She remembers the first time they had been together, how her hands had shook as she'd unclasped the Mayor's silky black bra. She'd felt suddenly self-conscious in her old, unmatching set of underwear—had she known that she was going to end up in Regina's bed, she would have dressed for the occasion. But her nervousness was left behind with the rest of their clothes, and with the sight of Regina's smooth and bare chest—replaced with burning longing. Regina's breasts hung perfectly from her body, those stunning round weights, and her dark nipples, already becoming stiff, stood out against her creamy light brown skin. And Emma found her hands sliding up Regina's body, breasts fitting neatly into her hands when they reached her chest and she gave them a tentative squeeze. Regina's nipples stiffened further underneath her touch, a stark contrast to the soft, yielding skin of the rest of her body. And Emma had found herself licking and sucking, teeth gently nipping and Regina's back arched underneath her, the legs wrapped around her waist gripping her tighter. She had felt Regina's heat, pressed close against her abdomen, grow hotter and wetter. And the Mayor's chest expanded as she drew in a deep breath, a desperate gasp, and Emma's grasp had become tighter and firmer—squeezing—as she channeled her passion into it.

But it reminds her of other things too, less lust-driven. The way Regina's breasts press gently against her back as they cuddle, nestling close to one another purely for the purpose having the other close. It's those soft moments that Emma loves almost as much as their wildly passionate ones.

And they remind her of the way that Regina nipples often push through the material of her shirt those times when she catches her not wearing a bra. A casual Regina is always a treat, a pleasant change from Regina's typical strict and professional wardrobe. She loves it especially when Regina wears her t-shirts.

Emma knows that by now Regina can see her impolite gaze, but quite frankly she doesn't care. Nor must Regina, as Emma can see a playful smile tugging at her lips out of the corner of her eye. She scoots closer to Emma, teasingly puffing out her chest and bending over towards Emma so that the tops of her breasts are clearly visible. She whispers something seductively in her ear, but Emma is far too distracted to be able to make any sense of what she is saying.

And Emma is lust-ridden and captivated by her lover's body, but she cannot bring herself to care.


	4. Chapter 4

**I had a little bit too much fun doing some research about pheromones to write this! This is the chapter about scent, in case you couldn't guess. Please review!**

**(To those of you who are waiting on an update from my other fic, I haven't abandoned it for this, I'm just so busy with school that all I have time for are these quick oneshots.)**

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The look and the feel of Regina are breathtaking in their own way, but what is truly divine about Emma's lover is her scent.

Regina's aroma can only be likened to apples—robust yet softly fruity. And warm. Welcoming. Familiar. Past that, Emma can't describe the way that Regina smells, apart from heavenly. And divine. Spellbinding. Like home.

Her scent has a way of hypnotizing her, enveloping her. When she breathes it in, it's another way of absorbing all she can of her lover—Regina's essence filling up her lungs and going through to her bloodstream, burning hot as it flows through her veins.

If a scent can be exciting, Emma muses, then Regina's is enthralling. It's full and daring, as if challenging Emma to come closer and to bury her nose in the soft skin of her neck, where her pulse pounds, heat emanates, and where her scent is most concentrated—spilling forth.

And with every breath, she breathes Regina in—it's inescapable. Even as her hands lack the feeling of Regina's skin soft underneath them, as her tongue thirsts for the taste of Regina's warm mouth, and her closed eyes miss the sight of Regina's luscious figure, like the ever-present beating of her heart, her aroma is a constant reminder of her closeness. She can almost envision it with closed eyes, her nose seeing its warm patterns and plumes in the air.

And how Emma misses it when it's absent.

Yet it has a tendency to linger after Regina's left, or maybe Emma's nose is just fine-tuned to identifying it. It clings to her clothes and especially to the bed—claiming that blissful scent while Regina sleeps. Or better yet, soaking it in while they do activities in their bed that involve very little sleep. Sometimes when Emma awakens in the morning to find Regina gone, she closes her eyes and lets her nose convince her that she's still there, welcoming her invisible presence, and ignoring the now-cold sheets as they tell her otherwise.

And other times, when Emma cannot stand Regina's absence any longer, she'll dig up whatever clothing she's left at her place and wear it herself, as both a physical and olfactory reminder. And it enlivens her and warms her entire being. Emma doesn't know if scent can really carry warmth, but somehow Regina's does. It has always been inextricably linked with warmness—that kind that can fill her from head to toe, every nerve and every cell alive with the essence of her love. The kind that she would rather drown in than let go.

And that's why Emma feels so cold without it.


End file.
